


A Bottle to Remember

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Angst, Brandy to be precise, Duty, F/F, Letters, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: Kareda Aeducan loved Antivan Brandy. Anora hated it, though the times Kareda brought one out were always memorable. Six bottles, each drunk differently...
Relationships: Female Aeducan/Anora Mac Tir
Comments: 7
Kudos: 4
Collections: 2020 A Paragon of Their Kind Dragon Age Dwarf Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ziskandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziskandra/gifts).



Kareda entered at a knock, a bottle in her hand. “Majesty,” she grinned, “you’ll never guess what Zev found for me!”

“It appears to be spirits of some kind,” Anora said with mock-coolness, raising her eyebrows. “A quite garish specimen. Do you actually plan on drinking it?”

“No,” the dwarf smiled as she let the door swing shut behind her, leaving them a solid three inches of hardwood between the Queen’s study and the guards standing just outside. “I plan on  _ us  _ drinking it. It’s a tradition. Zev scrounged up a bottle after Orzammar, and after Urthemiel…”

Her eyes flickered down, but not for long. They’d both known the risk, and Anora couldn’t argue against her father’s decision to be remembered as the hero he had been, rather than the almost-traitor his hatred of Orlais had led him to become. She still started when the bottle hit her desk with a thump.

“I’ve got a dagger right here, and we can-hah.” The wax crumbled off, and it wasn’t long before something a bit darker than the cognac Anora liked was swirling a finger deep in two innocent goblets. “To victory. To memories.”

It was the softness in the once-Princess’ voice that moved her hand to drink along with Ferelden’s hero. There was no time to smell it first, so she knocked it back with rusty practice. Then she was breathing cinnamon-flavored fire.

“Kareda!” That was all she could get out around the coughing.

“It hurts less the second time.”

It did hurt less. The third almost tasted good, and that was when the memories flowed. She finally let her guard down and cried over the two men she’d lost to the Blight: husband and father.

Kareda Aeducan, Hero of Ferelden, cried equally old tears over her brother and father.

The other man, lost to them both, hung as a ghost between them. Neither spoke the name of the last Theirin. 

No, tonight was for victory, for duty.

The kiss was a surprise.

In the morning, a red-eyed Anora handed Kareda a parchment. “It’s for you.”

The dwarf skimmed over it after cracking the seal of the Wardens. “Hm, it is. Looks like I’ve got Wardens coming into Amaranthine. I should go soon, get everything settled and make sure they don’t cause any problems.”

Anora watched her, but there was no sign of her own headache in the dwarven woman’s clear green eyes. Even her uniform, properly trimmed in silver and sapphire, was the perfect image of a perfect Warden-Commander. Only her hair, slapped into a tight braid rather than pinned up in her usual ‘official’ style, showed anything happened out of the ordinary.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Oh, a few weeks, maybe a month,” she said casually. “I’ll swing by a few towns along the coast and put out word we’re recruiting, so if you have any letters you’d like delivered, I don’t mind at all.”

It wasn’t the other woman’s dark hair that caught Anora’s attention, but her lips. Had she  _ really  _ kissed the dwarven princess? All she could taste right now was cinnamon and dead cat - the legacy of liquor, she supposed. She remembered  _ that,  _ too.

A slow smile spread across the lips she’d forgotten she was still staring at. “Are you going to see me off properly, or improperly, majesty?”

Anora was the first to blush. “I regret to inform you,” she said in her most Queenly voice, “that-”

Kareda laughed. “Oh, just kiss me.”

**

There might not have been Antivan brandy when she ‘just happened’ by Amaranthine four weeks ago, but Anora smiled when she saw the bottle sitting in the center of her desk. It was a different, equally garish label.

“You don’t expect me to actually  _ drink  _ that, do you?”

Her answer came from the bedroom. “It’s time to celebrate, Anora! Besides, I left Oghren in charge in Amaranthine.”

That was enough to make her stop. Oghren? That name invoked a leer she could feel at twenty paces, a bush of unkempt hair the color of some kind of alchemy experiment, and fermented pond water. Oghren? Kareda left  _ that dwarf  _ in charge?

A giggle slipped out.

“For a moment, I thought the Taint had taken your mind,” Anora retorted, ignoring the half-open door to her bedroom in favor of the mirror and shelf. She started taking pins out of her hair, one by one. It felt so good to be done with court for today, especially with  _ this  _ surprise waiting for her.

“No, not yet. How’re the Banns?”

She smiled at her reflection as piece by piece, the Queen fell away to reveal the woman underneath. “Oh, the usual,” she said in time with her hairbrush. “Fortune’s Peak is annoyed with the demand for stone from the Crown because I actually check the weights, Wolfsbane wants more craftsmen, and the trade road washed out again. Old Albrecht is blaming magic, since it happened near Lake Calenhad, but Eamon is insistent it’s because he doesn’t face it properly when he has the chance. The harvest looks like it might be enough, if nothing goes wrong.”

“Oh, the usual, then. Point out that Albrecht can get the stone leavings from you if they go to the road, maybe? You’ve got nothing better to do with the scraps, and that might fill up the holes. It did around Orzammar.”

The brush stopped. “That’s brilliant. It’s far better than having to pay to get them removed, or leaving the worthless bits for the Banns to clean up as they try to rebuild.”

“I’ve got some good ideas,” Kareda purred, and she could feel her skin shiver. “I’ve also got some terrible ones.”

“Oh?”

Of all the things Anora had expected when she met the Warden Kareda Aeducan in Howe’s estate, the sharp intelligence and wicked sense of humor had never even crossed her mind. It was more than just wicked humor, because her Chancellor was very interested in experimentation and just what she could easily reach at a foot and a half shorter.

In return, Anora gave her something she’d never gotten in Orzammar: the teasing love of an equal. For they were. This time, she knew what she had - and she was not going to let it go. Kareda had figured out it was more than just fun...well.

“I regret to inform you,”she said as she came into the bedroom to see Kareda covered in a soft yellow sheet and midnight hair, “that the only terrible ideas will be ones that don’t involve us staying in here until after the servants bring breakfast.”

“Oh! Then I have  _ brilliant  _ ideas.”

**

She could smell the brandy, sharp and earthy, on the breath they shared. Would she, Anora wondered, smell it on her skin as well? Perhaps if she tried, but none of that mattered now. The Court talked? Let them. They gave enough for Ferelden to steal this for themselves.

Kisses moved from her lips to brush her cheekbone, then temple. “You’re thinking,” Kareda whispered before nipping one earlobe. “Thinking’s for later.”

“There’s another letter on the desk for you,” Anora said as her fingers tightened against the dwarf’s ribs, dimpling the skin. Even if duty made her speak, the rare pleasure of having so much time just for each other made her stubbornly possessive.

“That’s for later, too.”

Anora rolled over, looking down at her lover from her new vantage point. No one would see Kareda, teasingly stretching in nothing but what the Maker - or Stone - had given her, as the serious, focused Warden-Commander and Chancellor. Then again, was that any different than herself, hair twining silver-gold against the midnight of her lover’s?

The nobles would whisper and complain of the need for an heir. Anora the Queen would nod thoughtfully and consider suits as they were presented, while Chancellor Aeducan and Arl Eamon discussed advantages and disadvantages as though it were a horse trade rather than a matter of compatibility and love. Anora the woman found comfort in her lover’s arms, all the while knowing that they would both accept a consort if it was for the best.

“Have I told you how much I love you?”

Kareda laughed back, free and clear. It was enough for the heavy mabari to lift his head from the sinfully deep rug he’d claimed as his own and snort. Then he lay his muzzle back down, returning to dreams of puppies - or dreams of darkspawn and the hunt.

“You,” the words pulled Anora from her odd reverie, “are a mabari yourself. You don’t  _ tell  _ me, you show me. You love on your own terms, fierce and guarded, and no one would guess you fart in your sleep.”

“I do  _ not!” _

Strong hands caught in her hair, pulling her down to a kiss that started fierce and turned languid and demanding. “It worked,” Kareda murmured with a grin when Anora didn’t go far.

Hands skated along flesh, interspersing gasps with giggles from tickles and retorts.

It was far better than the brandy she’d seen sitting on the table. How Kareda talked her into drinking that vile mixture was astonishing, except it was so like her. Bold, spicy, stronger than sense, and how her head hurt after it was gone…

Well, she had her dwarven princess right here. The hangover could wait.

**

“More letters,” Anora sighed as she fell into her chair. The pile of papers fluttered to the already-covered desk, and she pushed them to one side to deal with the one that was already open. It was very official, the silver-and-blue seal proud across the top.

Another request for assistance...

“How much are you asking for this time?”

The voice she’d expected to hear giggled from the shadowed couch. “You could at least  _ pretend  _ to be surprised, love.”

Anora hid her own grin. “Well?”

“It’s on the letter.”

“But I prefer hearing it from you,” she riposted. “Then we can get through the rest of these and have the evening to ourselves.”

Kareda flounced over, her dark hair braided and coiled in imitation of the crown Anora hadn’t taken off yet. The rest of her was covered with a silk robe tied at the waist, in the same Warden blue as the seal on her letter. “I need more men, Anora,” she said, all business despite the circumstances. “A lot more. Forty, fifty maybe. We thought we cleared out all the Darkspawn, but there’s signs of another incursion and we can’t afford to ask Orzammar and risk losing Kal’Hirol. There’s madness in the Marches, and as much as I’d like to bring in Wardens from Orlais…”

“...that would be a recipe for disaster,” Anora agreed. “Even if my late father led them, Ferelden would be in an uproar.” She tipped her head as her Warden-Commander pushed to sit on the one bare corner of the desk, and considered. “You want gold and arms, too?”

“Yes.”

She’d  _ just  _ gotten out of a meeting on the state of the Royal Treasury. “We need the gold for grain,” she said. “I’ll give you fifty soldiers, plus two of Loghain’s knights, armed.”

It was her lover’s turn to consider, biting a full lip as her eyes gazed at what was undoubtedly her own set of letters and reports. It was a chance for Anora to get some more of her paperwork sorted.

She managed to open three letters before she gave in to the distraction of those lips and watched Kareda instead. Her lover and Ferelden’s beloved hero nodded, finally. “Yes.” Then those lips widened. “I thought you had paperwork to get done.”

Anora leaned forward to kiss her, which was answer enough. One hand on either side of Kareda’s hips, she closed her eyes and let herself indulge in something far better than that horrible brandy her lover swore by. Then again, she’d been growing used to it, just as her lover had gotten used to so many other things.

One kiss led to another, which led to a pile of pins discarded atop a silken, sapphire robe.

“Do you think we should pick up?” Kareda’s voice was sleepy and full of rich satisfaction.

“I think,” she replied, one hand running down a scarred hip to dance between her lover’s thighs, “we have more important matters at hand.”

Her Warden-Commander’s moan was drunk by her lips and Anora slid further along, enjoying the moisture against her fingers.

“The rest - just like your brandy - can wait until morning, can’t it?”

Kareda’s callused hand returned the favor, pulling Anora’s knee over her own hip to give her better access to what lay between her thighs. “I think so,” she murmured.

**

She watched her lover twirl through the last of evening court and the feast that followed, all but bursting at the seams. Something, it seemed, had happened in Amaranthine - something she hadn’t wanted to share in a letter or in public. Duty held her to the pleasantries and expectations of a Queen, but then Eamon chuckled at her.

“As your Chancellor, I say you are fatigued and need to rest. You’ve done your duty, unless you’ve chosen a suitor…?”

“Not yet, though I might discuss it with Lady Aeducan,” Anora smiled back at him. “It’s a decision that requires careful consideration, after all. Not all spouses are as understanding as your own mother.”

He nodded the point to her. “True, Anora. I’ll leave you my notes on the latest ‘guests’ of the Crown. I’m sure they’ll be ready by lunch. Now go, I can stand in your place.”

She made her other goodbyes, and her Warden joined her side in sapphire and silverite. “You didn’t stay til the midnight bell.”

“I made the assumption you weren’t sparkling just for the Bannorn,” Anora said back, catching Kareda’s smile out of the corner of her eye. “What is it? Have you defeated another Archdemon?” She nodded as the guard stepped in front of her and opened the door to the royal suite. The bottle on the table was something she looked at with both joy and trepidation.

Then she was captured by strong arms wrapping around her waist, and a face pressed into the center of her back.

“I found it, love.”

“You found what? The Archdemon?”

Kareda laughed, high and breathless. “No, even better! I found a cure. Or at least, I think I did. A cure for being a Warden.”

If it hadn’t been for the arms around her, Anora would have fallen. Then she reached for the bottle of brandy herself, grabbing its neck with an unsteady hand. The cure hinted at in some papers Kareda had found years ago had been an elusive target for years, always shimmering just out of reach. The bottle had already been opened, and so she took a heavy sip straight from the bottle. The sip went straight to her head - it was that or the news.

“Truly?”

“Truly. Now give me that so you can get out of that dress. It’s prickly.”

She did, almost numb. The cure. A cure...perhaps not for the years the Taint had taken from her lover, but one that would give them more time together. It would let Kareda pass on the duties that separated them so often and take over for the aging Eamon. It would let them discuss the matter of a prince consort together.

The dress slid off, and she hung it back in her wardrobe before turning around in just a chemise. “Kareda Aeducan, what do you need from me?”

Star-bright eyes looked up at her from over the bottle. “I need a horse. Well, a mule. And maybe someone who can speak Nevarran. And paper - a lot of paper. I’ll send you letters whenever I can, I promise.”

“Of course, it’s all yours,” Anora promised. Then she sat on the sofa, and her lover found her favorite spot on her lap. They shared a few more sips, but it wasn’t the Antivan brandy that made her lightheaded.

“Then I can come home,” Kareda whispered against her lips.

**_ Home.  _ Then they could find a way to keep their duties from keeping them apart. Everything else was set aside for the evening, and they celebrated the promise of a future together.   
**


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment, Anora just stared at the bottle of brandy. Antivan, of course – Kereda had a preference for Antivan brandy that rivalled a Ferelden’s love of mabari.  _ ‘We’ll drink it when I get back,’  _ she’d said, and kissed her goodbye.

Anora looked down at the letter in her hand and swallowed. Then she set it on the desk and sat, carefully smoothing out each of the wrinkles crazed across the parchment. The seal, cracked, still showed a silver griffon on blue wax.

_ ‘Love _

_ I sent it all back – the cure. I found it, just like you knew I would. But I’ve got to deal with this first. It’s the Order, and it’s important. Have a drink for me. I’ll get home as soon as I can. _

_ Stone watch over you, my Queen, _

_ K’ _

She sat there, staring at the words in the elegant hand she’d come to love as much as the elegant beauty of the woman who created it. Her mind, whip-smart from suckling on politics, had been a comfort to her. They both knew just how much others distrusted that competence, or blamed them for being cold-hearted when  _ everything  _ was born of a heart that beat for one thing only.

Hers, for Ferelden.

Kereda, for the Wardens…and through them, the good of Orzammar.

She’d been too good a woman for the political bloodshed of her own city, but that had merely been Andraste’s blessing for the surface.

She sniffled, ignoring the ache she felt when she blinked her eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten a letter like this, and a hollowness in her stomach that belied the cheerful words.

It had been hard when she realized she loved not just the mind, but the subtle smile of the woman who only officially bore the title of Chancellor. It had been harder still when that love had been returned – hard, like setting a bone broken and healed wrong.

Almost, her hand crumpled the letter again, but she couldn’t do it. As much as she loved Kereda Aeducan, she loved Ferelden more. Bless her, Ancestors look upon her, because her lover understood. She loved and would always love the Order more as well.

They both knew duty came first, and love of an ideal before love of a person.

The elegant words blurred on the innocent parchment, but nothing marred the ink. Anora managed to force out a dry cough that she could pretend was a laugh.

“Oh, Kereda – only you would understand. After Cailan, after father, after all that…my tears had run dry.” It didn’t stop the hurt, but nothing would except time.

In time, she’d see her lover’s face again, and that hole beside her throne would be filled with a woman who the Bannorn had learned to respect.

In time, they’d drink that horrible Antivan brandy that only Kereda and her extravagant assassin friend could love.

_ Or in time, she’d say the words over another pyre and let the smoke carry up the ashes of that small part of her heart she’d saved from her country, for herself. _

“Come back safe, Kereda. Please.”

Weeks later, another letter arrived.

_ ‘Anora Mac Tir, Queen of Ferelden _

_ I mourn along with your country, for I was raised on the stories of the Hero princess. With a heavy hand, I write to inform you that…’ _

The rest of the letter was never read.


End file.
